


Be My Savior

by Falling April (ordinarygirl)



Category: Rent
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-25
Updated: 2007-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-09 20:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordinarygirl/pseuds/Falling%20April
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Roger meets a pretty blonde at his gig, he doesn't expect her to be completely uninterested.  And he doesn't expect to fall in love with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be My Savior

**Author's Note:**

> It wasn't supposed to be like this, Roger thought desperately. It wasn't. She was his heroine, his savior, his _angel_.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, Roger thought desperately. It wasn't. She was his heroine, his savior, his _angel_.

She wasn't supposed to fall.

* * *

"I don't date musicians," the petite blonde told him with an infuriatingly calm smile. Roger grinned as winningly as he could.

"I didn't ask if you wanted a date, I asked if you wanted a _drink_," he pointed out. She kept smiling.

"I don't do one-night stands, either," she said in a patronizing tone. "Go back to playing rock star and screw one of your groupies," she suggested, and turned away to talk to whatever friend she'd come with. Roger glowered a little and stalked back to the stage for the next set. He watched her all night, but she didn't look up at him once.

* * *

"Fancy meeting you here," Roger said with a cocaine-induced smirk. The blonde turned from her friends, who wandered off to dance, with a surprised look.

"Well, if it isn't the little boy who thinks he's a rock star." she didn't smile back, but frowned slightly. "I don't think you're famous enough to support your habit, yet," she said, eyeing his worn clothes. "Seems to me you should stop."

"Maybe you could convince me," Roger growled seductively, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. She shook her head, removed his hand from her hip, and stepped back.

"No thank you, Roger Davis," she said, and melted into the crowd before he could respond.

It hit him that she remembered his name, and he frowned. He'd never asked what hers was.

* * *

"Who is she?" Benny asked, flopping down on the couch next to Roger. Roger glared half-heartedly, but just stuck a foot on Benny's lap in retaliation.

"Who's who?" he asked nonchalantly.

"This girl," Benny said, calmly dumping Roger's foot onto the floor and pointing to a sketch in one of Roger's open notebooks. "You've been obsessing over her for nearly two weeks, man. Who is she?"

"I don't know." Roger sulked, frustrated. "I tried to pick her up at a show, and then at a club, but she just… brushed me off like I was just another guy." Benny smirked silently and Roger brushed his fingers over the sketch. "I don't even know her _name_," he sighed.

"Maybe you should ask next time you see her," Benny pointed out teasingly, but Roger didn't seem to notice.

"She's something special, Benny," he murmured. "I've got to have her."

* * *

He spotted her after a show a week after Benny'd asked about her. He took a hit off the joint he was holding, then passed it off to one of his band mates and sauntered over to her.

"You know, I don't think it's fair," he said. She raised her eyebrows.

"What?"

"You know my name," he said with the grin that drove his groupies wild. "But I have no idea what yours is." She pursed her lips.

"Why won't you give up?" she asked, looking exasperated. Roger started to say something suave (or what _he_ thought was suave) but then stopped. This girl didn't take crap from anyone, it would seem, and maybe honesty would earn him points.

"I don't know," he admitted. She nodded and turned back to her drink. "Your name?" he asked hopefully. He saw her roll her eyes slightly, and he frowned, a little lost in thought. "Although you might not have one," he mused. She turned to him, probably to ask what he was _on_ (heroin and a little pot, not that it mattered), but he quickly continued. "Someone told me once that angels don't have names."

She stared at him, open-mouthed, for a long moment, until someone put a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, you okay?" the somewhat scrawny young man with glasses asked her, eyeing Roger suspiciously.

"Yeah," she said absently, not looking away from Roger, her expression bemused. "Did you find Maureen?"

"Yeah, she's waiting outside." the young man (barely more than a _boy_, honestly, Roger thought) glanced between Roger and the blonde girl. "I'll, um… go wait with her?" he asked. The girl nodded, and the boy turned reluctantly to go outside.

"So, is my information correct?" Roger asked, trying to be _just_ charming enough. "Are angels really nameless?" The blonde girl was silent for a moment, then gave him a secretive smile, her eyes twinkling.

"Perhaps," she said simply, and slipped off the barstool, moving towards the exit. She hesitated at the door and turned back to look at Roger. He waved slightly and she smiled again before disappearing through the doorway. Roger felt a thrill of victory.

She'd started to get interested.

* * *

"How long are you going to make me beg for your name?" Roger asked quietly, kissing his blonde angel's neck just behind her ear. She smiled softly.

"I don't know," she said, threading her fingers through his. "I rather like being called 'Angel'." Roger growled in mock frustration and nipped at her earlobe. She squealed a little and giggled. "Plus, it keeps you interested."

"I don't need _that_ mystery to keep me interested," he murmured huskily, sliding his hand down the smooth skin of her stomach and then lower. She whimpered a little and arched into his touch.

"I'll tell you," she whispered, "when you stop using," Roger sighed, not wanting to get on _that_ topic again, and slipped his fingers into her to disrupt her train of thought. "God, Roger…" she gasped, and he forgot, for a while, that his Angel had any other name.

* * *

"We need a couple more roommates," Collins said, dropping the bills on the counter. Benny and Roger looked up, startled.

"Why?" Benny asked, and Collins held up a piece of paper, looking vaguely pissed off.

"Mr. Grey raised our rent. Again."

"Fucking… Where the hell are we gonna find roommates who'll actually _pay_?" Benny asked. Roger just sat silently, looking thoughtful.

* * *

"This is my best friend, Mark Cohen, and his girlfriend, Maureen Johnson," the blonde said with a smile. Roger, Collins, and Benny nodded hellos, and Maureen grabbed a rather surprised Roger into an exuberant hug.

"Oh, it's so nice to finally meet you!" she gushed. "April's told us so much about you all!" Roger's eyebrows shot up and he mouthed "April?" at his Angel over Maureen's shoulder. She grinned and nodded.

April. It was bright. Colorful. Lively. Just like she was. April.

"So," Collins was saying, "How'd you three like to move in?"

* * *

Mark was waiting up for him when he got back from his gig.

"You're up late," he said, slurring a little from the drugs and the booze. Mark bit his lip and looked down at his hands.

"You're hurting her, Roger," he said, his voice almost inaudible. Roger froze, suddenly sobered up.

"What?"

"The drugs," Mark said haltingly. "She's scared and… and upset…" Mark glanced up to meet Roger's eyes. "She started cutting again," he whispered, looking scared. "She hasn't done it since high school, but… the signs are all there. I _know_,"

Roger glanced to the door of the bedroom he shared with April, with his Angel, and swallowed hard. "What should I do?" he asked uncertainly.

"Stop using," Mark's voice was firm, and Roger nodded. He didn't particularly _want_ to, but…

His Angel was hurting. He'd do _anything_ to stop that.

* * *

"Ten to one, she's pregnant," Benny declared as he and Mark and Roger stood outside the Life Café speculating why April had been feeling so crappy lately.

"No _way_, man, she's on the pill!" Roger punched Benny in the arm.

"It's probably just the flu or something," Mark said, the lone voice of logic and reason, as always.

"No, 'cause it's…" Benny trailed off for a moment as an ambulance sped by, sirens blaring too loud to speak over. He started to continue when Mark peered around the corner.

"It's at our building," he whispered, fear in his voice. Roger's eyes widened.

"April!" he gasped, and took off running, Benny and Mark right behind him. They reached the top of the stairs about the same time as the paramedics, who stopped to ask a blood-soaked, hysterical Maureen if she was hurt. "April!" Roger shouted, and Maureen let out a wail.

The bathroom door was open. He could see her on the floor... he raced in.

His anguished scream brought everyone but Maureen and one paramedic to the door.

"Wake up, Angel, please wake up!" he sobbed, rocking back and forth, clutching April's lifeless body, heedless of the pool of blood covering the floor. The paramedics could tell there was no hope for the young woman, and busied themselves with gently prying Roger off the body. Mark had collapsed and backed himself into a corner, even more hysterical than Maureen.

Benny saw the envelope taped to the refrigerator with Roger's name on it. He opened it and pulled out two pieces of paper. Looked at them. Quietly showed one of them to the paramedics, who told him to stay away from the bathroom for now. He stayed behind to wait for Collins while the paramedics radioed for a cleaning crew, and took Roger to the hospital to get cleaned up and tested. Mark was given a strong sedative, and slept on the couch as the bathroom was surgically cleaned of all traces of blood.

When Roger finally got home Benny gave him the note that had accompanied April's test results.

* * *

It wasn't right, this wasn't how it was supposed to happen. She was supposed to be _here_, with him, both of them clean and healthy and happy. Making a life together.

She wasn't supposed to have fallen. She'd fucking _saved_ him, and in return, he'd… he'd _killed_ her.

Because that's what it was, when you came down to it, he thought. He'd lost her, his beautiful, bloodied, broken angel, because he'd killed her.

Only one way to forget. Only one way. And that was to go right back to what she'd saved him from.

But it didn't matter anymore, Roger told himself as he slipped the needle into his vein. It didn't matter, she was gone, he'd killed her, he wasn't worth anything.

It didn't stop him from feeling guilty as he pushed the plunger.


End file.
